Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  "In news just to hand, there are unconfirmed reports of a huge explosion at the official opening of the Consumer Robot fair. We understand the Cathuan President, who was attending the event, has been assassinated. Stay tuned, we'll have more after these messages."

  "You appear to have killed the President of Cathua," said her controller. "Is this the case?"

  "I think so."

  "You must be certain!"

  Jasmin looked at the screen, which was now showing an aerial shot of the exhibition centre. Smoke was pouring from the collapsed roof and emergency vehicles were converging from all directions. "I'm certain," she said.

  "Excellent. You must now book a cab."

  "Where to?"

  "You will be given a destination after you leave the ship."

  Jasmin used the spaceport connection to order a cab, but the limited interface insisted on a destination. After a moment's thought she selected Jordia City and submitted the request. "Okay, done."

  "Now you must erase the ship's database to conceal all traces of your mission. Everything must go. Is that understood?"

  "Yes."

  "Proceed, then. And quickly."

  "But what about the security? I may not be able to break it."

  "You now have access to additional cracking tools. These will allow you to proceed."

  Jasmin accessed the console and discovered the once-impenetrable shields around the Navcom were now ordinary windows: fragile and easily broken. With a few commands she designed a script to smash its way in and delete everything, and was just about to run it when the shields strengthened before her eyes. Jasmin tried to break them down, but they resisted everything she threw at them.

  "What are you trying to do?" asked the Navcom.

  "The Volante has been sold," said Jasmin, improvising quickly. "I have to erase your database."

  "Sold?"

  "Yes. The new owner has her own operating system. She doesn't need you."

  "Mr Spacejock didn't think to say goodbye?" asked the Navcom. "Not even Clunk?"

  "They're busy with their new ship. You should see it, it's great."

  "I'm sure it's wonderful. Tell me, what are they using to run her?"

  "It's the latest thing. Multiple personalities working in harmony, each with their own area of expertise."

  "Sounds awful," remarked the Navcom. "I don't know why they didn't take me."

  "Operating systems go out of date," said Jasmin gently. "Newer ships need the latest software. It's the same with robots."

  "Clunk's still in service. And Mr Spacejock is older than both of us."

  "Humans are different," said Jasmin. "Their useful life cannot be extended past a certain age, and their new models aren't any better than the old ones."

  "Clunk always said he'd do his best to last as long as Mr Spacejock. I … I thought I'd be doing the same."

  "Obviously not."

  "Well, if I'm not needed you'd better get on with this deleting business."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. But if you meet up with Clunk …"

  "Yes?"

  "Nothing," said the Navcom quietly. "He probably won't remember me."

  The shields turned transparent again, and Jasmin was just about to run her script when she heard a car tooting outside.

  "There's your cab," said the Navcom. "Hurry up and do it."

  Jasmin froze, gripped by a sudden revelation. She'd get into the cab, give the driver some vague instructions, and then she'd arrive somewhere with her memory as blank as a new born baby's. She was being prepared for her next mission!

  "I haven't got all day," said the Navcom. "And your cab driver sounds impatient."

  Jasmin ignored her. Why put up with endless rebirths? She could fight it, starting now. She could leave herself a note right here in the flight deck. But then … afterwards she wouldn't know about the Volante. On her person? But they'd have thought of that, whoever they were. No doubt her last order would be to dispose of all such items. But what if she said something to the cabbie? Told him to bring her back to the Volante no matter what destination she gave? In that case, her controller would probably force her to order another cab, and another, and so on until she obeyed.

  The Navcom piped up. "I'll do it myself if you don't get a move on."

  Jasmin frowned at the console. They'd thought of everything, but what if …? Working quickly, she added several commands to her script and executed it. She gripped the console while lights flashed and flickered all around her, and then everything went dark.

  Jasmin got to her feet and walked unsteadily into the airlock. With a shock she realised her energy was dangerously low. How long since her last recharge? There was no time now, but it would be her very first task after the cab ride. She pushed the heavy door open with her shoulder and took the passenger ramp to the landing pad, where the cabbie was waiting impatiently at the controls of her vehicle. The car sped away as soon as Jasmin was seated, heading for the spaceport exit.

  Behind her, the Volante sat lifeless on the landing pad.

  *

  Clunk had racked his brains as the timer clicked down before his eyes, but for once he was out of ideas. There were wires galore surrounding the hefty explosive charge, but any one of them could trigger the bomb if he interfered with it. And there was no way to stop the countdown.

  Ten … nine …

  He looked around in desperation. People were fighting madly at the exit, the President amongst the worst of them, hurling people aside as he tried to get out. His security team, far from helping, had been first out the door, and there was no chance for anyone unless … Clunk spun round and stared at the empty crate, still sitting on its trolley on the other side of the room. He grabbed the stricken robot by the arms and dragged it towards the crate. Hal joined him, and together they bundled the robot inside. "It's not very thick," said Hal, tapping the crate's metal skin. "Do you think it'll stop it?"

  Clunk ignored him and crouched in front of the crate, his fingers blurring as he entered a string of digits on the control pad. The timer inside the robot's chest showed three … two …

  WOOF! The force field activated, filling the crate with black glass. There was a deep rumble as the explosives detonated, but the immensely strong field contained the blast, reducing it to a pinpoint of red light.

  Hal wiped his brow. "Smart thinking, old son."

  "It was nothing," said Clunk modestly. He turned to address the crowd. "You're safe now, the threat has been neutralised."

  The wrestling and punch-ups ceased, and without the panic the crowd cleared quickly until only Hal and Clunk remained.

  "It seems we were employed to carry out an assassination," said Clunk. "I warned you not to take that woman's cargo."

  "You said she was up to no good! You didn't say anything about exploding killer robots." Hal looked thoughtful. "Now we've delivered the crate, do you think she's going to pay up?"

  "I think we should go to the authorities and tell them everything."

  "Oh, yes. Great idea. We won't need the Volante if we're banged up in jail for the next forty years."

  "It won't be like that."

  "Won't it? We're in this up to our necks, Clunk. If we hadn't impersonated Barry and Ace —"

  "- all those people would have died. And the President would have been killed, too."

  "They're going to be waiting for us. We need a good cover story." Hal thought for a minute. "I know! We were just refilling the coffee machines when —"

  "Why don't we just explain what happened? Any reasonable person would understand."

  "Clunk, we shipped an exploding robot to the trade fair and almost killed the President of Cathua. Who's going to be reasonable? Anyway, my prints will be all over the —" He stopped and stared at the crate. "Is it just me, or is that thing getting bigger?"

  Clunk turned to look. The red pinpoint had changed to a glowing yellow ball the size of his fist, and as they watched it continued to expand. "It's not going to ho
ld. We'd better get out of here."

  "Wait a mo, there's food wasting." Hal grabbed a chunk of ham and a slab of cheese, stuck two loaves under his arm and poured a plate of biscuits into his overalls.

  "Come on," said Clunk urgently. The crate was beginning to glow, the contained explosion having spread through the glass until only the thinnest of layers was holding it back.

  "Let's make like logs and split," said Hal, thrusting the cheese into his hands.

  They charged along the empty aisles, past the anthem-singing robot and into the deserted lobby. The doors were open, and they'd just got clear when there was a rumble deep within the convention centre. Several windows blew out, showering glass across the concourse, and thick smoke billowed from the entrance.

  There was a chorus of oohs and aahs from the crowd, and Hal and Clunk were still making their way towards the truck when they were pinned in a blaze of light.

  Chapter 26

  The cab swept out of the Jordian spaceport and headed for the city centre, Jasmin in the front alongside the driver. For several minutes the cabbie tried to engage in conversation, hoping to secure a decent tip, but her passenger was having none of it. Actually, her passenger seemed to be fast asleep. The driver eyed Jasmin's red evening dress. Not short of money, with clothes like that. Must have had a busy night. Her gaze fell on the bulging handbag clutched in the passenger's hand, then flicked back to her slack face. "You don't want to sleepwalk around the city with valuables, miss. All kinds of crooks around."

  Jasmin grunted.

  "Jordia Central, wasn't it?"

  There was no reply.

  The driver set the car to auto and switched on the dashboard screen, angling it towards her. She selected her favourite chat show and settled down for a good twenty minutes of trash talk, only to be rudely interrupted by a news update. She switched channels, but they were all carrying the same story.

  "This just in from the Consumer Robot Expo," said the announcer excitedly. "We can confirm that the President of Cathua survived the attempt on his life, which officials are now calling an industrial accident. Our reporter was covering the event, and we now cross to him live. Geoff, can you hear me?"

  A suave reporter appeared on-screen, holding an oversized microphone embossed with the station logo. His face was stark white under the camera's built-in spotlight, lit with red and blue flashes from the massed emergency vehicles. In the background, smoke poured from a row of broken windows, and shadowy figures darted to and fro on official business. "Thank you, Sandy. Yes, I was on location as these unbelievable events unfolded, and I have to say it was a miracle the President survived. I assure you, we'd be running an obituary at this very moment had it not been for the intervention of a pair of caterers."

  "Caterers?"

  "Yes, two locals. They were refilling the coffee machines when events caught up with them." The reporter looked off-camera. "And here they are now! Let me see if I can —" The camera swung crazily, picking out a human in blue overalls before settling on a bronze robot. Its battered skin gleamed in the harsh light, and it shielded its eyes from the glare.

  "I believe this is Barry," said the reporter. "Barry, I understand you're a robot."

  "No comment."

  "Tell me what happened. Was it an accident caused by careless and possibly actionable actions on the part of the trade fair organisers, or something more sinister?"

  "No comment."

  The camera swung back to the reporter, who looked somewhat less suave. "Poor Barry is clearly suffering from the traumatic events, and cannot bring himself to —"

  "No comment," said a voice off-camera.

  "Perhaps his owner will have more to say." The reporter reached out and pulled the human into frame. "Ace, what can you tell me?"

  "I'm Hal," said the human, squinting into the light.

  "Your badge says Ace."

  "That's my middle name." Hal looked into the camera. "Is this going out live?"

  "Yes. Tell our viewers what happened."

  "Well …"

  "Yes?"

  "I can say one thing."

  "Spit it out man!"

  "If I wanted to ship freight anywhere in the galaxy for a low, low price I'd call Spa —"

  The screen went black and the flustered announcer reappeared. "As you can see, confusion still reigns at the scene of this terrible accident. Or was it something more sinister? We'll be back after these messages with more."

  The driver glanced at her passenger. During the news story she'd seen her twitch once or twice, but assumed she was dreaming. Now, to her shock, she realised the woman was frozen in her seat, eyes wide open.

  "Miss?"

  There was no reaction. The cab driver felt for her passenger's wrist, but the skin was cool to the touch and there was no pulse. "Oh no, not here," groaned the driver. Paperwork, coroners, Peace Force agents poking their noses in … she'd lose two weeks income, and all because some silly bitch had to die right here in her cab. She glanced at the passenger, and then at the handbag on the seat alongside. Seconds later she was staring in disbelief at the high-value credit tiles crammed inside. Hurriedly, she closed it and pushed it out of sight below her seat. Then she took the next off-ramp.

  *

  Hal and Clunk escaped the media scrum only to be accosted by two very large men in body armour. "The President would like to see you," said one.

  "Now," said the other.

  Hal judged the distance to the car park, and was still deciding whether he'd make it when one of the men took his arm in a grip like a docking clamp. "We didn't do anything!" protested Hal, as they were dragged through the crowd.

  "No comment!" said Clunk from somewhere behind him.

  They found the President sitting on a camera case, sipping a cup of coffee. Someone had put a blanket around his shoulders, and with his mane of grey hair he looked like a retired superhero. As they arrived he beckoned to Hal, who shook off his minder and approached.

  "Not you," said the other bodyguard, as Clunk tried to follow.

  The President stood to meet Hal. "Please excuse the temporary quarters," he said, gesturing at the upturned crates. "Can I get you a drink?"

  Hal nodded, then watched in surprise as the President poured him a coffee from a flask. "Don't you have staff for this sort of thing?"

  "Only my adviser, Wallis, and he isn't the sort to wait on anyone." The President glanced around, peering into the darkness. "I'm surprised he's not here gloating, headache or not. He was against this visit from the start."

  "Was he worried something like this might happen?"

  "No, he just didn't want me to buy Jordian robots. Very patriotic." The President passed Hal a mug. "Tell me, have you been in the catering business long?"

  "All my life," said Hal. "The hours are terrible, but the fringe benefits are great."

  "Until you got caught up in these events, eh?"

  "That's us." Hal gave him a calculating look. "Probably cost us a fortune in lost wages. Expensive business, rescuing people."

  The President hid a smile. "I'll ensure your expenses are covered."

  "If you insist."

  "Tell me, what do you know about local economics?"

  "Bits and pieces," said Hal warily. "Supply and demand, that kind of thing."

  "I can tell you that Jordia and Cathua are about to sign a trade agreement that will see both our planets buying more of each other's goods. I can also tell you that Plessa would be only too happy if that agreement were not signed."

  "What's it got to do with them?"

  "For years Plessa has been the most prosperous planet in this system. They negotiate hard, playing Jordia and Cathua against each other to get the best prices, and as a result we two planets are kept in check. Our economies are stagnant, our people are starved of opportunity, and our factories are half empty."

  "Sounds like Plessa is screwing everyone rotten."

  "In a manner of speaking. Now, this trade agreement will move Plessa to the recei
ving end, and they're not happy about it. In fact, we believe they sent agents to Jordia to sabotage the process. You probably heard about the spy ship they tried to land in full view of the local fairground?"

  Hal tutted and shook his head. "Those pesky Plessans, eh?"

  "Yes, and now this." The President gestured towards the exhibition centre. "The thing is, it's taken me two years to convince your Premier of the need to work together. Just between the two of us, he's a bit of a spineless buffoon, and if he realised Plessa was behind this he'd call the whole thing off. So, I'd like you to hide your part in this affair."

  "A cover up?"

  "Oh, I realise it's asking a lot. Your bravery, and the way you saved all those people … Outside a select few, nobody will ever know."

  "I could live with that," said Hal.

  "The official story is that an experimental robot went berserk."

  "What about the explosion? Clunk told everyone it was a bomb."

  "Your robot was mistaken. It was just a gas main." The President saw Hal's doubtful look. "Yes, it's weak. But the story only has to hold until this agreement is signed."

  "It's not that. Who's going to tell Clunk he made a mistake?"

  "Strong willed, is he?"

  Hal nodded. "And proud of it."

  "I may have the answer." The President gestured to his minders. "Send the robot over."

  Clunk was ushered forward. "I am honoured to be invited into your presence, your Excellency," he said, with a deep bow.

  "You're most welcome. Now, I've been discussing recent events with Mr Spacejock, and he tells me you were responsible for most of them. What do you have to say for yourself?"

  "Quite a bit," said Clunk, with an angry look at Hal. "But it'll keep."

  "Hang on, Clunk. It's not what you think."

  The President ignored them both. "I'd like to invite you both to a government function tomorrow morning." He glanced doubtfully at Hal's flight suit. "It's formal dress, of course."